Clive Cussler - The Eye of Heaven

“Lazlo?”

“Top of the morning to yer, young man!” Lazlo said with a passable Irish brogue.

“You’re awfully cheerful.”

“I’ve decoded the manuscript. I invited your better half to come and join me for coffee while we go over it. The invitation extends to you, of course, unless you’re otherwise occupied.”

Sam blinked twice and glanced at Remi. “That’s great news. You’re a magician. We’ll be there in two shakes.”

“Take your time. I’ve no pressing engagements now that I’m purer than a nun’s prayers.”

“Or sober at least.”

“That also. See you soon.”

Sam tossed the phone on the bed. “Just a suggestion, but today might be a good day to hurry in the shower.”

“I’ll be ready in five minutes,” Remi said, already on her way into the bathroom. “This is exciting. I love this part. When it all comes together.”

Sam smiled. “Me too.”

Lazlo was sitting on his room’s small brown sofa when they arrived. He rose to greet them and moved to a circular table in the corner, where the notebook computer was displaying its screensaver.

“Please, take a seat. I suspect you’ll be here for a while,” he said, indicating two folding chairs he’d obviously requested in anticipation of the meeting.

“You look better, Lazlo,” Remi said, studying his face, noting the clarity in his eyes.

“Thanks, Remi. You’re a persuasive lady — in the best possible way, I mean.”

“So what have you got for us?” Sam asked as he sat next to Lazlo.

“Ah, where do I begin? First, the code. It was a substitution cipher and the original underlying text was written in Latin — or every other word was, alternating with Spanish. That’s more than a little unusual, but it suggests to me that the author wasn’t a conquistador — rather, he was a member of the clergy or an educated nobleman. I won’t bore you with all the technical details; the short version is, I’ve only encountered anything similar from that era once before and that was an encoded document intended for the Pope’s eyes only. I entered it on my list purely out of habit and thank goodness I did. Because when I ran the text through that program, it identified the encryption pattern. And, from there, it was child’s play.”

“Interesting. So it was a priest?” Remi asked.

“You’ll have to be the judge of that.”

“Why didn’t it show up in our database?”

“Probably because you haven’t spent the last two decades compiling the most complete list of encryption techniques ever assembled,” Lazlo said with the slightest hint of a smile.

“So what does it say?”

“Once I translated all the Latin into Spanish, it seems to be a report on an oral tradition the author dragged out of a highly placed Aztec prisoner — a holy man. Perhaps one of the most esteemed. Anyway, this man told the author about a supposedly great treasure that was to be found in sacred ground. Gemstones, rare icons, and something given to his predecessors by one of their gods.”

“A god?”

“That’s what it says. Loosely translated, I took it to mean ‘the Eye of God.’”

Remi sat back. “No. It’s ‘the Eye of Heaven,’ although the Toltecs didn’t have a specific belief in heaven that we can determine. Too little’s known about them, though, to say that with conviction. But I can see how in grappling with a concept like an afterlife, Christians would naturally use words that were the most familiar to them.”

“God, heaven — to my ears, it amounts to the same.”

“Does it offer any direction to where this Eye of Heaven can be found?” Sam asked.

“In a roundabout way. Near as I can tell, it’s in the burial chamber of one of their supreme beings. Unpronounceable.”

“Quetzalcoatl,” Remi murmured.

“That’s close enough.”

“And does it say where this chamber is?”

“Near a holy place dedicated to the god, of course.”

“It comes out and says that?”

“Well, not in so many words. More amid ramblings about winged snakes and suchlike. Haven’t got the foggiest whether you’ll be able to make anything out of it, but I made a copy of my rough transcript and saved it to the flash drive you gave me. It’s all yours, and I hope it points you in the right direction. Although you’ll just give the treasure to the natives rather than pocketing it like any sensible fellow would.”

“That’s right. It’s not about the money. Any percentage that Mexico offers us, assuming we find anything, will go into our charitable foundation,” Remi said.

“I don’t suppose you’d adapt your charitable model to include broken-down, disgraced ex-academics, would you?”

Sam smiled. “Why don’t we take it a day at a time?”

“Can you take us through this line by line?” Remi asked. Lazlo nodded.

Thirty minutes later, they all sat back, a look of puzzled consternation on Sam’s face, Remi’s expression neutral, Lazlo positively beaming with accomplishment.

“It doesn’t really tell us where the tomb is, does it?” Sam said.

Lazlo smiled. “You mean something like ‘Walk fifty paces from the old oak tree, west by northwest, and when you see the split rock, dig’? Not as such …”

“There can’t be that many temples dedicated to Quetzalcoatl,” Remi mused.

Sam shook his head. “Actually, there are. The Toltecs, the Aztecs, the Mayans … they all worshipped him. So, depending on when the tomb was constructed, the body could have been placed in an existing tomb or a tomb being built at the time of the burial. The manuscript doesn’t clarify the timing, does it?”

“No. It just says ‘a chamber beneath a pyramid,’” Lazlo said, pointing to a passage in the translation.

Sam shook his head again. “There are dozens … hundreds, assuming that it’s not one that has yet to be discovered. Seems like every year, they’re finding more Mayan ruins in the Yucatán.”

“Or that it wasn’t one that was destroyed. Like Chulula,” Remi added.

“Not that I wish to dishearten you,” Lazlo said, “but there could also be some confusion in the translation from the original language to Spanish. It could well be that it wasn’t a temple dedicated to this Quetzalcoatl but rather a holy site where he was worshipped alongside others.”

“So what does that leave us?” Remi asked.

“Looking for a chamber beneath one of hundreds of pyramids,” Lazlo said. “At least it was clear that the chamber was beneath the pyramid and not incorporated into the walls.”

“Which assumes that was accurate. It sounds like the Aztec priest wasn’t sure about the exact location, either.”

Lazlo nodded. “True. The manuscript states pretty clearly that it’s founded on hearsay. As are most of these accounts, really.”

Sam groaned and stood. “Nobody said this would be easy, did they? Lazlo, you’re a prince among men. Seriously.”

“Good show, old chap. If only my sanctuary here afforded the odd gin and tonic for toasting purposes … but I suppose Nurse wouldn’t allow that.”

“It’s for the best, Lazlo,” Sam said softly.

“I expect that even if I don’t live any longer, it’ll seem like an eternity — and an arid one at that,” Lazlo teased, and then gave them both a look of resigned acceptance. “Seriously, though, I appreciate your help in all of this.”

“We have an ulterior motive. We’re hoping we can convince you to look over our shoulders and help us find the tomb. Maybe peruse the photos from the earthquake site, see whether you concur with our interpretation of the pictographs?”

“I’d be delighted, of course. You have but to ask.”

“That’s the spirit.”